


First and Last

by aurora_borealis



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Gen, Preseries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:45:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_borealis/pseuds/aurora_borealis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lust learns what her master has created her to be, and the space in her almost makes it feel like nothing more than a dream. (2003 FMA, pre series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	First and Last

She is a homunculus, first and foremost-

_(Created in the image of woman, the old texts said, she’d read them all, the creation and inevitable destruction to come forth)_

First and last.

Her master made her Lust. Although she doesn’t really…it’s more, she has come to know, of what she represents. If she wasn’t that, after all, who would she be?

_(Monsters, they said, before they were killed)_ Naturally, she’s considered a monster because of her nature. Humans like the idea of that, “natural,” when sometimes that just means whatever lie sounds best, convenient.

Sometimes when her memories come she isn’t sure if they belong to the humans or all the ones called Lust before her, sometimes she feels lost and ill, sometimes when she closes her eyes she can’t tell what exactly she’s seeing behind them. She never sleeps. Sometimes she imagines she’s dreaming.

When they try to kill her she bleeds a little, she’s made from a human, red inside.

She’s told she was made from a war. It’s fitting. A creation of a human, a creation of death (Dante says war is the mark of humankind. She’s a human, though, Lust knows but does not say. Sometimes she wonders if Dante sees shadowed angles of herself when she closes her eyes. Dante sleeps every night, at least, every night that Lust has been able to know. Humans must, even if Dante is not a typical human. Maybe there are no words for what Dante is, any more than there are no words that Lust could give herself; the ones that are already there do a minimal, unsuccessful job of description.)

She doesn’t trust anyone, but she can tell when they’re being truthful.

Dante says she can make their kind human, but Envy is supposedly hundreds of years old, and he isn’t. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be, or his nature makes him incapable of ever changing; even his appearance that he alters always goes back to the  same one. If he’s Envy he has to always be envious, of what, she doesn’t really want to know.

_The sin of Lust, born of desire, carnage and filth and sex and stop touching just stop you won’t have any reason to there’s nothing here you want just get away and cleanse, there will be no salvation for the sin, there is no purity in the sin-_ they say it’s a red sin. But it doesn’t feel red.

Her clothes are a green so dark it’s nearly black and her eyes are purple. She wonders why Dante’s clothed her that way, after all, she does everything for her own reason whether it’s calculated need to have victory or just some strange form of amusement that would have made sense a few decades back.

Dante is the one she thinks of the first time she sees a picture of a transmutation circle; her body freezes over from cold to ice (although her natural state does not feel cold to her, it would to a human, whatever natural means she supposes she’ll never have a part of it and it doesn’t matter). Dante leaves behind all these old parchments; if her creations are going to be secrets they have to know secrets.

“I know why you called me Lust,” she says. _You needed one. There were  ones before me that were not satisfactory. They were experiments, failed ones that failed again. But I know why I am Lust. Why I can be Lust._ She almost smiles, but her mouth only moves. She was not made for joy. “There is a space inside of me.” Whatever it’s got inside, of a part of her wants to know and the other part wants it gone. “I was not made to feel it, was I, Master? But it is present all the same.”   
  
That day a human thinks she can be killed and when the minimal drops of blood run down her face she imagines she’s dreaming the last dream a human ever thought up.  


End file.
